The Broken Circle: A Memoir of Escaping Afghanistan

by Enjeela Ahmadi-Miller

Yet wasn’t that the greatest part of love, to talk?

I could become anything I desired. This was freedom.

Women were unveiling, stepping out of the home, and taking part in society, though they were still Muslim in spirit and practice. The

I had become so accustomed to the tanks that lined the street in front of our house that I hardly noticed them anymore.

“I hope for the freedom of Afghanistan,” he said. “I am not afraid, even to die.” I watched them march single file into the night. They went willingly into the darkness with only the hope that their sacrifice would mean something more than spilled blood alone—freedom for their children and for me.

We were all thinking the same things as we watched in silent shock as he began climbing the path up the mountain, returning the way he had come. He was one of the bravest men I’d ever met, and I learned so much from him. None of us said a word as he disappeared up the path, into the heights.

Every night as I lay in bed, I had so many questions about why the world was the way it was. Why things happened to certain people.

God knows we have come to this place, that we have things to learn so we can grow as human beings, as spiritual creatures.

Tragedy was the only memory I had of so many women in Afghanistan. These visits delighted me, to see women enjoying their lives in a peaceful city. All of them had so much to look forward to.

I envisioned the things we could achieve if we worked hard, trusted and looked out for one another, and kept moving forward. That was all in my future, and my past had prepared me.